


C21H23NO5

by Anonymous



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Drugs, Heavy Angst, Internal Monologue, M/M, Smoking, Time Travel, im getting better with tags pog, its kinda sad but open ending is what i call it, no beta we die like men, sad gay blockmen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:07:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27167674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "Clay loved him, with all his heart - he could never have lied about it… but who would he have lied to? There was no one left for him."
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19
Collections: Fanfic Anonymous





	C21H23NO5

**Author's Note:**

> before we start, i would like to point out that i used the characters' actual names because i didnt feel like their personas' names' would fit the vibe and mood i was going for, thank you for understanding <3 enjoy

"Well, how are you today?" the older man knocked his pen on the paper attached to the folder in his hand.  
"I'm fine," Clay muttered, then slowly blew out the smoke coming from his cigarette.  
“I’ve told you a thousand times not to smoke in my office,” he sighed.  
“And I’m not going to listen to this for a thousandth time — if you’ll excuse me,” he pulled up, crossing his legs in the chair he was sitting in. “What do you want to talk to me about today? Am I taking my medication? Did I look at quitting methods? Or let’s say how unhealthy do you think I am taking advantage of the opportunities offered by time-traveling? I am open to them. ”  
“I know no would be your answer to most, so I don’t even ask them,” he raised an eyebrow. “But the last topic would be very important - that’s why you fall back on your addictions. That's why you should deal with the others instead of, just, constantly sucking on that ... that,” he stumbled, tapping his pen on the paper that was still empty - no matter how that they started twenty minutes ago.   
“Don’t make me laugh Darryl! You know full well that fucking thing isn't worth anything anymore! ” with as much vigor as he arose, even his former chair overturned. It was not surprising how fiercely he reacted to this — he was too deeply immersed in the matter that such a remark would not bother him. And Darryl knew that too — he brought it up many times to provoke these reactions from the other man. “My God, one day could you close your fucking mouth about this? You can’t understand how I feel about it and every single time I’m here you bind it to my nose just to tell me what I'm doing sucks. I know it sucks! But do you think I have any other solutions?”   
  
Darryl let him rest for a few minutes, cleared his throat - then he continued.  
“Of course, you have thousands and thousands of opportunities, but you don’t live with any of them - that’s why I mention it every time I can. And you know why. Do you want to end up like how he did? I do not think so."  
Clay no longer comprehended their meeting that day. 

* * *

  
“Oh, George… Oh, George,” he smoothed the framed picture in his hand. He couldn't process that months had passed since that day — and oh, how right Darryl was about it. Of course, he wouldn't have admitted it to the man - why he would have done it?  
He clearly remembers that day - when he got home he found himself facing an unconscious George on the floor of their bathroom. Oh, and how scared he was then, the panic he felt haunted him since. But he knew he couldn't have saved him anymore — he was late for it, so he just watched him until the pain and fatigue took him off his feet as well. Eventually, with the help of their neighbors — more like care — they got to the point where they could hold a funeral for the boy, which Clay also clearly remembers.   
He sighed, ran his fingers through his blonde locks, and pulled them a little harder. “I’m sorry I wasn’t home sooner. Maybe that's why I want to go back to you every night - no matter how often I can. It gives me the strength to get up every day - even if you’re not with me. I know you will be with me once I finally close my eyes… ”

  
Time travel could still be said to be a new thing on the market, but it was taken like sugar. It was much more successful than they expected it to be. The point of it was to be able to go back to the past - something people had been waiting for nearly centuries.   
The situation was simple, you got a given code to a server and even if you didn’t physically get back to a specific time - from anywhere in the world so far - you were able to relive it from your own point of view. Of course, such a trip did not last long - the latest structure so far lasted a maximum of thirty hours each time - but for most people, it was enough.

* * *

George was always in trouble about addictions so it was no surprise to him when he got to do more things. He started with simple ones, really, and then became more and more interested in the direction of the stronger ones until he started dealing with them. And Oh, he dragged Clay with him, who, if he wanted to, couldn't lie about these things. At first, they tried to step back from these together - but who would they have been if their curiosity had not been the reason for their loss? If they started together, they ended it together like anything else in the few years before.   
They met at university, and from there, their doors were open. They lived together in an apartment, with a cute multi-spotted cat and a couple of - even then - dead plants. Idyllic - you could say. 

  
That really wasn’t a lie that his curiosity would be the reason for his loss — because it was. He never restrained himself from what he was doing, no matter how kind he seemed to be, it never was. He was no different that afternoon — he was an idiot, the greatest. He didn't even think about what he was doing, he was just doing it. It was his biggest mistake, no matter how much anyone wanted to admit it, especially not himself.   
Nor did Clay, for the least.   
He first thought when he saw him, on the tiled floor of the bathroom, that he was just imagining it, but oh, how wrong he was then - and for the next few hours while he was just sitting next to him, watching the boy's discolored tongue slowly fall out of his open mouth. Either how tiny his pupils were narrowed, or that the pale color of his skin was becoming more and more light. He knew there was no chance for him to help anymore - so he just sat there and watched him. He watched her see how beautiful he was even near-death — or even within death.   
He didn't want to forget what he was like. He didn't want to forget what eyes he had looked at him before the day before. He didn't want to forget how bittersweet — how beautiful a voice he addressed him with. He didn't want to forget how it felt when the other just stroked his face. He didn’t want to forget the scent of his skin, the texture of his hair, his lips… he just didn’t want to forget Him. Therefore, he would have just looked at her for an eternity, until every millimeter of the other man had burned into his mind until he clearly remembered everything… until he could say for sure that he was the most beautiful man he had ever seen.  
That's why he looked at him until his eyes settled next to the object of darkness and his overcast dreams, like a feather pillow they had once decided to dust off. 

* * *

  
Clay decided not to go back for him tonight - because he couldn't bring him up from the past either. He may have finally listened to Darryl’s words that it’s not worth it to relive the same thing every time he could.   
Nothing else — just the only one when he first heard from the other man's mouth that he loved him.  
He would have lied if he had said that was not the only thing that helped him move on. Move on? Hell, he could never have moved on no matter how much time they had given him. At this point, he didn't even know what and why he was doing, he started smoking again — which made him feel like a stench cloud — and he started reaching for different drugs again, no matter how much he did not want to.   
He should have taken an example from his lover's situation, but who would he have been if he hadn't started into something much worse?

  
He remembers the day George first told him he loved him — he kept that memory as his greatest treasure.   
That’s why he went back there every time he just needed comfort - most of the time with a failed comeback. He always used his thirty hours to listen to that sentence a thousand times over and over again, zigzagging between studying the other’s lips and face at every chance.   
He loved the warm redness that flooded it — which several things could explain, alcohol, and the actual torment that could positively be called torment — he loved the reactions he could elicit from the other. He loved the other's face and every little detail of it, its even smaller parts and smaller part's specials. He felt distracted every time he looked over George's face as if a siren song had chained him there, that he hadn't even caught on. 

* * *

Clay loved him, with all his heart - he could never have lied about it… but who would he have lied to? There was no one left for him, there was no one up there anymore, there was no one left who would have even talked to him in the middle of the night about not to be afraid. That's why he was scared.  
He wanted to tell him even more times how sorry he was that he hadn't come home sooner or that he had just sat down next to him until he had completely lost consciousness.   
He wanted to talk about so many things, but no matter how many times he traveled back he couldn’t - he couldn’t open his mouth as he just looked and looked at reliving what had happened in the past.  
He couldn't process that he could no longer tell him what he wanted to. He couldn’t process that he could no longer apologize to him because he was always late. He couldn’t process that he could never help when the other was expecting him to - he just went to be wasted and was surprised when he had come out of it shit.  
He simply wanted to apologize. He just wanted to say goodbye to him as it should have been - but it was too late. It was always too late. 

* * *

"Well, how are you today?" the older man knocked his pen on the paper attached to the folder in his hand.  
“Thank you for the question,” he blew out his cigarette smoke in the musty office, slowly pounding a rhythm to the wooden board of the table. "I'm fine."

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading my fic! i hope you liked it :D  
> (please comment your opinion im desperate for validation /lh) 
> 
> also small promo here!:  
> https://discord.gg/5GsyTVs  
> join the safespace, we are all really nice <3


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